


Kingdom Come

by TheLittleDayDreamer



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:54:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24926479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLittleDayDreamer/pseuds/TheLittleDayDreamer
Summary: Michael didn’t hate Tommy for what happened the year prior, well not as much as his wife wanted him to.
Relationships: Michael Gray/Reader
Kudos: 9





	Kingdom Come

**Author's Note:**

> Few things:  
> \- I wrote this a very long time ago. I was just getting back into writing, especially juggernaut lengths and it shows.  
> \- This is prototype Nora, so whilst the kids don't add up, the events themselves remain in Nora's canon.  
> \- Y'all I can't be arsed to format this, it's not bad but it's like 12-PM and I haven't slept in like twenty hours.

**December 21 st,** _1925._

“We’re happy ‘ere now, do us a favour and fuck off.” She spat, venom dripping from every word that fell from her plump lips.

(Y/N)’d imagined this day, for the past twelve months. She imagined herself kicking and screaming, perhaps a blade was involved withdrawing some blood from the wretched man depending how irate she’d been that morning. The day Thomas _fucking_ Shelby showed up on her doorstep looking for her husband. He was poised wearing the typical black three-piece-suit, rather over-dressed for a casual family visit in the countryside. His clenched jaw showed aggression, but his eyes told a different story; determination. He didn’t intimate her, _not in the slightest._

Feeling the harsh winds blow against her skin, she crosses her arms slipping a small curse, the knitted white throw wasn’t enough to keep the heat in, despite her boiling rage at the man who stood in her open driveway.

“Love,” he chuckled his eyes slipping to the gravel, though it sounded more like a scold, “I’m trying to help you here, help the kids-“

“My Michael had a rope around his _fucking neck_ ,” she watches as man squints at her, “because of _you_.”

Kicking some loose stones, he shoves his hands into his jacket pockets.

“Get lost Shelby.”

Tommy ponders for a moment, taking in the new surroundings. It was strange and unfamiliar; blue skies, green grass, the sun radiating down on the fields. _Wasn’t for the likes of him._ Their cobblestoned cottage was picturesque, something you’d find on a postcard _,_ rather off-putting actually. The overwhelming hit of fresh-air was quite nauseating.

Leaving without Michael wasn’t an option, even if he had to pull out the gun.

Though, he was getting considerably more from (Y/N) than from Esme and John – who didn’t even pick up the phone – then again, he didn’t bother to ring Michael, just showed up at their door but he was growing impatient with this one.

“(Y/N), if you don’t move, I’ll fucking make you.”

“Oi, _watch it_.”

The pair turned at the voice, a harsh slam of a door follows, Michael swaggers out, a lit cigarette hanging from his lips.

Taking in his appearance, Tommy was relatively surprised at the change in his cousin. Long gone were the fitted suits; dark eyes and slicked back hair, instead a distant memory as his crumpled pinstriped shirt hung from his body as did his suspenders. _He looked like shit, probably smelt like it too._ Shifting his gaze to (Y/N) he noticed her significantly melted demeanour, Michael seemed to have softened her nerves once he stepped between the two.

“Come to beg for forgiveness?”

He scoffs, ignoring the jab. “Shelby Company Limited needs you, this legitimate business-” there’s a slight stop, as Tommy eyes him up, “ _I_ need you.”

Pushing past her husband, she scowls, “What’d I just tell you?” Tommy rose both his eyebrows, it was unusual to see (Y/N) considerably feral _in front_ of Michael, from what he could remember she was rather content hanging off his arm making small talk with the wives of his brothers and aunt.

“In the house (Y/N).”

“What?” She croaked.

She wobbles for a moment when he gently pulls at her arm, turning her to face him, “I’ll deal w-“

“Don’t you _dare_ get in that car.”

Tommy smirked, picking at the situation, “Y’know Michael, you should really keep that missus of yours in check.”

He narrows his eyes at his cousin, before idly chucking the fag off to the side, then flickering back to (Y/N), “Get in the _fucking_ house alright!”

Flinching at his volume, she glances to the door, seeing a faint silhouette of their two-year-old behind the glass.

She steps closer to him, enough to hear his slow breaths, “Michael, look at me.”

He didn’t, he tried so desperately not to.

(Y/N) grips at his arms, feeling her nails urgently digging into his skin through the thin material. “Michael _, please_.”

The prospect of returning to civilisation had always been enticing, strolling round busy cities, pints after work with Isaiah, socialising with Birmingham’s brightest not waking up to the same screaming kids every morning wondering when he’d get his next hit, if ever. This was his golden opportunity to just… _leave it all behind,_ the band on his finger had already begun to feel like a deadweight. Settling down permanently had never been part of anyone’s plan, but Polly insisted. At the time, they’d already had George with the twins on the way. Arthur and Linda fled then the rest followed suit. John and Esme moving in down the road from (Y/N) and him, but their presence was simply a sour reminder of his old life.

The burning sensation in his biceps tear him from his thoughts as he looks down at his wife’s glossy orbs.

Her heart ached, she could see it, the longing. He was spiralling _, wanting_ to go back, back with this vile human being, leaving everything they’d built together over the past year. He tries to shrug her off to no avail, she reaches out to hold his face frantically caressing his rosy cheeks with her thumbs pushing back his tousled hair and rambling sweet nothings, refusing to let tears fall however unbearable the stinging got. “Y-You can’t go, I-I can’t lose you, not _again_ ,” she trembles.

He still wasn’t listening, he was peaking over her; _at him._

Tommy speaks, “Pol’s in a bad way.”

Giving another attempt to get his full attention, she presses her forehead to his forcing him to see nothing but her, “W-What if next time he’s too late? I _couldn’t_ do it w-without you,” abruptly tears start forming and falling down her cheeks, “f-four kids Michael, not on me own.”

“Thomas Shelby isn’t your f-family,” he lets out a shaky sigh, carefully resting his hands on her waist as she continues, “m-me, A-Arthur, John and Esme; _we’re_ your family.” She reaches up to place a fragile kiss on his forehead. “ _Family_ doesn’t leave you to rot in a _cell_ , family doesn’t let you take the fall for them, or-or…”

There’s a deafening silence as her voice withers.

“Say your goodbyes now and I’ll wait in the car.”

The couple hear him shuffle back to the Bentley. Hesitantly, (Y/N)’s grip on her husband loosens, wiping a few tears away, dreading the awaited judgement call, they stood close, feeling her ragged breaths coming hot and angry against his bare chest due to a few undone buttons. She’d done all she could, once his heart was set on something there was no stopping him.

“Michael-“

Taking a deep breath, with a quick glance at the alluring man in the sleek silver motor, not daring to look down at (Y/N), “I’ll ring John to come get you and the kids then I’ll pop by on Christmas morning.”

She released a screeching sob, hitting against his chest, “Y-you _promised!_ ”

Noticing her weakened frame, as she thrashes against him, but he holds the girl back in a tighter embrace, keeping (Y/N)’s legs from buckling and calming her. “Sweetheart,” he murmurs into the crook of her neck, placing quick chaste kisses as he slowly sways them, hearing faint sniffles as her chest fluxes uncontrollably, “ _I know_ , _I know_ but it’s for the best.” He soothes but (Y/N) jolts back from the comfort of his arms, disgusted.

“Don’t,” she said, though it sounded more like a growl, her eyes had gone dark, red facial blotches fully formed, “don’t fucking touch me.”

Thomas Shelby was ripping her family apart from the inside, _again_.

* * *

__

“It might not _feel_ like it now, but you made the right choice yesterday,” He said, swirling the remaining whisky in his glass before downing it in one then falling back into his chair still watching his remaining partner-in-crime tinker with a button on his waistcoat, “Michael.” he pressures.

The younger man runs a hand through his now slicked back hair, unsure if his cousin was looking for an answer or just showing an ounce sympathy. If it was right, then why didn’t it feel like it? Why could he still hear his eldest son’s cries ringing at the back of his mind all the _fucking_ time, begging him not to go? (Y/N) refused to acknowledge him whilst packing for the trip back to Small Heath, storming straight to the kitchen followed by some faint shattering from what sounded like glass and a strangled scream.

Grimacing at the streaked powder scattered across the sleek table he swiped at it again.

Michael missed (Y/N), he missed her so fucking much. He missed her tender touch, when they’d wake up bare and entangled in one another as the sun shined through the sheer beige curtains highlighting her soft features. He missed her angelic voice or even the way she smelled after bathing one of the kids in sink - lemon, on the odd occasion lavender. He especially missed just holding her close as she buried her head into his chest, knowing that there was always someone at home who truly cared about _him._

And he’d screwed it all up.

His cousin had rang late in the evening, reassuring him; _‘you know what women are like with this shit.’_ though not before getting an earful from Esme about how she’d already had to stich-up a few open wounds on (Y/N)’s hand, yet another person to add to the list that wished him dead in a ditch.

* * *

__

“-you marry a man, bare all four of his fucking children only for him run straight into the arms of the same arsehole that nearly got’em killed.” She groans taking a final drag from the cigarette, beginning to feel vaguely lightheaded. Laid back against the headboard atop the spare bed she’d been offered, enjoying cleanliness of the plush maroon coloured quilt, not having to worry about sick or piss stains that had pilled up over the past year or in Michael’s case, half a bottle of rum when they’d gotten a little _too_ tipsy returning home from Arthur’s thirty-eighth birthday party.

“I dunno,” stubbing the fag out she glimpses as her son playing with his toy train, rolling it back and forth, “What’d you think Georgie, is daddy a bit of a numpty?”

The two-year-old, unaware, blissfully ignores her as he lifts the train into the air, creating _whooshing_ noises when it wiggles about.

Their room is dark, curtains closed and all lights off, expect a single lit candle on the dresser to keep the kids from rising.

There’s a small movement as she feels her daughter stir in her sleep, Violet wasn’t used to her mother’s body-temperature which was significantly colder than Michael’s, who she claimed to be her bed whenever the pair couldn’t get her to settle in the nursery without waking either of her brothers or younger sister. They’d been sitting like this for about an hour; George fiddling with a handful of the Shelby’s leftover toys, Violet peacefully glued on her chest with Rosie unfortunately stuffed in a big drawer that had been pulled from the cabinet then padded, since John only had the one spare cot, which the twins had to share. It wasn’t ideal, but neither was this entire situation.

It’d left her tossing and turning, hyperaware that it was not her husband resting next to her in the bed but in fact her baby boy.

Getting to their home yesterday was an _experience_. John found her curled-up on the kitchen floor with half a bottle of gin; obviously just opened. She was in hysterics, one hand coated in blood and George, who’d clearly been crying himself, running his small hands through her hair. Michael had no idea the state he’d left her in.

Esme was a blessing, taking on (Y/N)’s kids, despite already having her hands tied with six. She was lucky to have her, they’d been friends prior to the Shelby’s because they both came from travelling families, occasionally stopping in nearby sites. Esme currently had Oliver downstairs feeding him with their eldest daughter, who she trusted enough, seeing her look after the younger siblings whilst her parents were down at the betting shop.

“Mama, ‘ook.” George giggles showing her the _magic_ flying train, with its wooden doors opened and half-missing roof. She gleams back at him, ruffling his delicate golden locks then giving him a quick _‘bop’_ on the nose. _God,_ _he looks so much like him._

There’s some soft knocking at the door before a quite voice is heard, “Mrs Gray, can we come in?”

(Y/N) chuckled at the politeness of John’s children, considering how long she’d know known him shamefully believing his bad behaviour would’ve rubbed off on them. “Mm-hmm.”

Katie and Annabelle scuffle in the room with Esme following behind, the girls sharing the role of carrying what looked to be a bowl of scolding hot soup and bread on a tray and her son balancing on her friend’s waist. “How many times have I told you girls,” she smiles, “It’s just (Y/N); I’m family remember, not some snooty granny from the village.”

They return the smile mindfully placing the shiny metal tray down on the bedside table. (Y/N) motions them to come sit on the bed with her and their step-mother who still held onto Oliver. “He didn’t cause you any trouble, right? Has habit of chucking his food rather than eating it.”

Both daughters shook their heads as Esme halfheartedly rolled her eyes, “Whatever food was thrown won’t be sitting for long, _John’s got a habit_ of eating any old shit,” she hesitates, peaking down at (Y/N)’s bandaged left hand, “How is it?”

“Its a little nippy but I’ll live.” She lied.

Watching Katie coo her son, joining him with his train-game but he’s more interested in playing with her vibrant red hair, weakly tugging at it. She can see the poor girl wince but taking it like a champ. “Michael said he’d be here on Christmas day, I’ll ask him to head to ours first to grab the presents from Santa.” She winks at the brunette.

“He hasn’t phoned again, _has he?”_

“Tommy’s probably got him on a tight leash.” She said, humorously. As much as Esme was fuming with Michael she didn’t want to stress (Y/N) out anymore, she couldn’t imagine being in her position because her other-half was _mostly_ on the same page when it came to Blinders business.

There’s a few gargles from Violet as (Y/N) lightly rubs her back before she settles again, gripping at Michael’s black suit jacket her mother had shoved on over a plum negligee.

“Hopefully that’ll keep him alive a little longer.”

“Hmm,” she begins though there’s resentment looming, “Ada’s coming to visit tomorrow, maybe she’ll have some good news.”

* * *

__

“Just,” he sighs, “tell her I love her, _alright?_ ”

Ada Shelby narrows her eyes at her younger cousin as he sat bored in the dimly-lit office, his desk littered with loose piles of papers.

“Anything else?”

He thinks for a moment but shakes his head locking the cylinder of the pistol, handing it to her after reloading it.

She nods, taking it out of his grasp sliding it into the leather handbag. “Give that to her, yeah? Just in case. Don’t want her using John’s kit, ‘ve seen the state of it.”

Pursing her lips, she looks back at him, “ _You_ should be there Michael, it’s Christmas and with this Changretta fellow-“

“(Y/N) and the kids are safe outside the city, being in Small Heath only creates targets on their backs,” seeing her unsatisfied glare, he continues, “Tommy needs me. Once this issue with the mafia is sorted it’ll be all hands-on deck to push this legitimate business.”

“Well, for your sake I hope they shoot you first, because last thing anyone wants to do is get on the wrong side of a travelling girl.”

“It’s too late for that Ada.”

* * *

__

“How’s Linda then Arthur?” she warmly enquires fidgeting in the seat whilst clumsily gripping at the telephone, which is followed by some positive muttering.

“-and the baby?”

An extended sigh that can be heard, “Billy’s been crying non-stop for the past three months, every hour on the fucking hour.” She smiles sympathetically, not that he could see.

“Had the same problem with Rosie and Oliver, ma said a wee bit of whisky never hurt anybody.” (Y/N) sings.

“You travellers, always on the drink.”

There’s a dramatic gasp before she playfully scolds him, “I see the apple disnae fall too far fae the tree then, now does it.”

“Ack, she won’t let me smoke near the thing, never mind having the Scot’s bloody finest.”

“It wisnae, _that_ gud. Ma had tae drink about two full boatles before her backside wis in the air.”

Arthur lets out a warm laugh, “love,” he teased, “it’s coming _oot_ again.” She can’t help but cave at how unnatural her language sounds coming from the Englishman, though easily shrugging it off. “Aye, Mebbe I’ve been followin’ ma mother’s footsteps; marryin’ an English bawbag then boozin ‘til deeth when she’s done poppin’ oot greetin-faced waens.”

Arthur scowled, slowly trying to follow her words as they roll rapidly off her tongue. It wasn’t like (Y/N) to complain about her children, nor bring up her family, unlike Esme, she tried to shove it as far under the rug as she could. Something was off and it wasn’t just Linda’s cooking. “How many ‘ave you had?”

“Three!” she waited, scratching the back of her head a hiccup slipping from her lips. “No wait, pretty sure a hid wan aboot nine month back.”

“I meant drinks-”

She abruptly interrupted, “six or seven- _ish_.”

“-and this doesn’t have anything to do with your Michael being back in the big-boy’s office?”

She sheepishly looked down at her bare toes wriggling them sobering her slightly, rehearsing each word as she said it, “Naw, it’s Christmas! I’m allowed to celebrate, aren’t I?”

Shaking his head, he continued, “(Y/N), the last time you _celebrated,_ you screamed fucking ‘ _gardyloo_ ’ every time you went to take a piss then shagged Michael in Tom’s car. Which, forgive me if I’m wrong, is how you ended up with _two_ fucking kids in one.”

She chortled at the memory, the Shelby clan looked on in utter confusion as she spouted nothing but gibberish words to them into the early hours of the morning, back when they were all together, as a family…

“At least it wasn’t in _your_ car, _by the way_ ,” she leered winding the wire around her finger, “I take it Finn hisnae told you he’d already pulled a wee lassie fae doon the road?”

“That little shit.”

* * *

__

“Hello, lovely!” Ada beamed as (Y/N) peeled open the Shelby’s front door, her eyes squinted trying to ignore the sun hitting against her like a hammer to a nail, “Merry Christmas Eve!”

She takes the young girl into her arms, giving a tight squeeze though making a face once the pungent smell of alcohol burns her nostrils almost causing her to recoil. She takes a look good at her friend examining every little detail. Initially, bloodshot eyes stood out and some red rashes, most likely from rubbing. Though, raising a brow at some faded bruises resting on (Y/N)’s collarbone but then picking up on something more sinister. “What happened to your hand?”

Giving her a stern look, (Y/N) turns on her heel acquiring Ada’s red bag, probably packed with presents for the kids.

John and Esme had run down to the shop trying to collect some last-minute spices for Christmas dinner which left (Y/N), Ada and ten rambunctious children running wild. Heading deeper into the house with her in-law hot on her tail she travelled straight to the central sitting-room, placing the cotton satchel down on the spare seat.

“Cuppa?” (Y/N) questioned, as Ada took off her fur coat, she gave a genuine smile nodding. The Shelby sister began surveying the rather cluttered area as the girl disappeared into the kitchen.

“I spoke with Michael.” Ada called, grabbing what appeared to be yesterday’s paper from the coffee-table. Though few headlines catch her interest, something about the new red buses in London but not much else.

(Y/N) bit her lip, glad the other woman couldn’t see her reaction, she wanted to pry but she couldn’t show any sign of forgiveness or else it’d be right back to her husband. She didn’t hate _him_ ; she hated what he’d _done_ and _who_ he’d ran off with. Michael had to learn that there would be consequences for his actions, and she refused to give him the satisfaction she knew he was searching for.

Ada, fully aware she has (Y/N)’s attention trails on, “Says he loves you, and that he really misses being with you and the kids.”

From the kitchen she scoffed pouring the water into the empty kettle, catching a small glimpse of her wedding ring.

“He doesn’t miss me Ada, he misses having someone fuckable on hand,” she purses her lips soon regretting her crude remark, “it’s just guilt, soon we’ll be back to _Michael Gray, Senior Accountant at Shelby Company Limited_.” (Y/N) mused placing the kettle onto the burning stove, her tone becoming increasing bitter towards the end.

Spinning round, she digs around for some loose teabags in the upper cupboards, “Who knows, maybe this time the snow ‘ll fuck him over so much,” she grins finding two stashed behind a cracked teapot, “ _I_ won’t have to.”

Ada peeks at her handbag, noticing a small reflective glint from the pistol. She quickly grabs it, awaiting (Y/N)’s return.

“ _What about you?_ Been back on the stuff yourself?”

“Not since I had Rosie.” There’s a reluctance behind it which means it’s a fib, growing up with three older brothers and Finn made easy to tell when someone was pulling her leg, still, she chose to ignore it besides they weren’t under the same roof anymore. She’d _heard_ the bed creaking at four in the morning so didn’t care to know any more about it.

Listening to the bubbling water, (Y/N) then lifts the kettle turning back around, clasping two green teacups with the teabags under her fingers and heading back into the big-room, eventually setting everything down on the table in the middle. Straightening up, she clocks a familiar piece of _her_ home in the palm of her hands. “Why have _you_ got Michael’s gun?”

“He gave it to me, _to you_ ,” (Y/N) stares at her blankly, “Just in case anything happens.”

“If he was that worried, he’d be at home, with his kids and his wife but he isn’t, is he?” She sneered, empty the water into each cup.

Ada huffs at her friend’s pessimism, Michael was in Small Heath ripping his hair out over this woman and she wouldn’t even give him the time of day. “He’s just trying to keep the peace, there’s no harm in that.”

She freezes for a second, unable to comprehend the anger she felt towards Ada. Stalking up to the woman clad in luxurious brands and shiny clean heels and a pressed blouse, not even bothered by her own appearance consisting her flowy powder-blue tea-dress with ragged sleeves and dragging train covered by a woolly white shall, with unkept hair she crosses her arms getting in the Shelby’s face, beginning to speak in a slow, condescending tone. “Tell him he can shove his _gun_ , up his fucking arse,” there’s a small hint of a smirk, as (Y/N) hears the hitch in Ada’s breaths, “I’m sure big brother Tom will happily pull the trigger, ay.”

There’s a dangerous silence between the two woman, though it’s cut short by a booming voice from down the hall, causing them to jump apart. “Oi-oi, Ada’s here!”

* * *

__

“The black hand came here, everybody will have got one.” John swallows, _hard,_ “they’re coming for us all.”

(Y/N) idly stomps her foot looking away from the man trying to fight back the tears whilst she stands protectively between the married couple. If they’d left one with Arthur and John; they’d left one with Michael. There was nowhere to hide, not home, not John and Esme’s and not in Small Heath. The only thing to do was wait for Changretta. They’d fight their own battles now, without Tommy Shelby.

She could feel a striking burning sensation in her heart, both in fear and rage. Once again, she’d been dragged into the fucked-up world of the Shelby’s. “H-How long do we have?”

(Y/N) wanted her husband so dreadfully, just to cling to his shirt and for him to reassure her that everything was going to be okay, that nothing could harm her. She wanted him to protect her and he couldn’t.

Sensing some inner tension, Esme placed a comforting hand on the younger girl’s shoulders, feeling the heat from her hands calm her through the flimsy sheer material of the dress.

“A day, month, maybe another year.” He lists trying to contain his boiling temper. _He needed Arthur here now._

Despite John’s arrogance, he knew he couldn’t fight what was heading his way alone. Esme was adamant he could, or well, _she could._ Getting the rest of the family involved wasn’t a bad idea, but only on his terms; not Tom’s. He wanted to ignore it, in hopes it would just go away and Changretta would forget the whole thing, but the world was too cruel for that. His wife was happy pretend, go on with Christmas as normal he just wished he could do the same.

All this because he’d opened his big fucking mouth about Lizzie.

(Y/N) was another problem, well, not problem but the American mobster would have a field day knowing she was here cooped-up with them.

“So, what now?”

Esme grabs both (Y/N)’s shoulders, spinning her, she shows an encouraging smile. “Nothing. We’re the family now and this bastard isn’t going to ruin tomorrow for any of us,” She puts a hand under her chin lifting it, “Michael’s coming round, isn’t he? The kids will be over the moon.”

* * *

__

“Today, everyone in the family received one of these.” Ada states, carefully handing her cousin the letter from the criminal as she held her panicked aunt in a tight hold.

“What’s it mean?” Michael questions, glancing down at the loose parchment wondering if there was one sitting in his letterbox at home.

Without wanting to upset the elder woman anymore she spares the detailed explanation, instead cuts to the chase and looks him straight in the eye, “Tommy’s called a family meeting, he wants you both to come.”

Ada tenderly guides Polly over to the fire, then helps her rest hoping it will distract her enough so she can get through Michael how serious the situation actually was. She motions him to follow her to darkened space behind the staircase, beginning with a hushed volume, “It’s from Luca Changretta, Angel’s older brother,” she watches as the realisation hits, “he’s coming after _us._ ”

Michael begins chewing at his tongue, hoping to get some form of release to ease the feeling of disdain for himself.

“Tommy’s says he want you to pick up John tomorrow since he can’t get through to him.”

He ponders for a moment, thinking about the danger he’d put (Y/N) and the kids in. Ada had already informed him she’d refused to take the pistol from her, so she’d been left with whatever John had lying about the house which wasn’t great. His wife knew how to fire a gun but not with any skill.

The woman takes his hands into her’s gripping at them, “Michael,” she warns, “These men _can_ and _will_ kill your children, if John doesn’t want to come; fine,” she stops again, shocked at what she’d just blurted out but continues nonetheless, “don’t even think about leaving without (Y/N), _drag_ her into the car if you have to.”

“She’ll never listen, she doesn’t even want to hear from me.” It was true, when he’d rang up John the day he left, she made it clear she didn’t want to speak to him.

“She still bloody _loves_ you for godsake!” she exclaims yanking the letter, skelping him with it, “(Y/N)’s _hurting_.” Ada debated on whether to tell him about the nasty drinking habit too, though ultimately deciding against it. “You left her vulnerable with four kids at Christmas, all under three,” she notices his posture soften and tries to humour him, “if Freddie ever done that, I’d want him six feet under too.”

“Michael.” Polly calls, causing both of them to turn, she was holding something but neither of them could quite make it out, “It’s Tommy, he wants you to come to the phone.”

* * *

__

“You here to see your missus then?” John joshers his cousin, lowering his weapon.

“Tommy wants everybody at Charlie’s Yard now.”

Fiddling with the shotgun, he quickly ushers his dog inside then climbs down from the roof trying to ignore Michael’s presences. It was ten in the morning, the kids already up and running rampant with their new toys and full of unlimited sugar.

Inside, (Y/N) sat nestled into the couch with little Rosie giggling in her arms as she waved a stuffed bear in front her, George occasionally joining too but he was more concerned his new bouncy-ball and race-car. Though Esme inspects from the kitchen window as the two men head towards the front door, she’d alerted John of the mysterious white vehicle pulling up on their property. Now she had her answer and she was pissed.

“(Y/N).”

Her gaze’s floats to her brunette friend with one hand on her hip and a deep frown, “Michael’s here, sounds like the boss’ got a meeting.”

She carefully passes her daughter and the bear into the arms of Katie Shelby, praying her daughter wouldn’t cause a fuss, to her surprise she seemed to take to the redheaded fourteen-year-old quite well. Giving Esme one final glance, (Y/N) storms towards the door unsure if the other woman was following her or not.

Michael could try all he wanted to, but she wouldn’t let him ruin yet another day for her, especially not due to Tommy Shelby. She could hear his muffled voice the closer to the outside she got, though she didn’t have much of a plan for what she was actually going to do. _Hug_ him? _Kiss_ him? _Slap_ him? Or, tell him everything was _okay?_

“Look, John we don’t have time for this alright, just come to the meeting.” _Oh,_ she knew exactly what she was going to do, what she should’ve done in the first place.

John, obviously disinterested keeps ushering him to relax, “Come in the house, have some food.”

He’d barely twisted the handle before the (Y/N) swung it open, nearly pulling it off its hinges causing him to jump back.

“Tell Tommy Shelby that he can crawl back into whatever fucking hole he came from!” She jeered, nearly pushing her husband off his balance. It was strange seeing him so tailored, slightly sickening actually.

He lets out a huff, knowing this wouldn’t be easy, “Look, Tommy says that they could come for us today (Y/N).” he explains but she sneers in his face, mimicking the similar argument that started it all except this time she’d developed a backbone. “Just, get the kids in car and we’ll deal with _us_ another time.”

“ _Tommy says, Tommy says_ ; are you his fucking parrot!” (Y/N) taunted again, her voice cracking with significantly increased volume. She knew she had an audience, but the brewing annoyance begged to be vented.

“Look it’s the mafia alright, the _New York_ mafia we’re taking about.“

John, trying to end their lovers-tiff cuts in, “-and we’re the Peaky fucking Blinders.”

“No, we’re not John. We’re not the _Peaky fucking Blinder’s_ unless we’re together.”

Despite addressing his cousin, (Y/N) bites at him, “You were _together_ in the gallows, with _one_ man missing.”

She was never going to get over that, he wouldn’t really either, but he considered it easier to forgive and forget than addressing the pain of the memory. Sometimes Michael thought (Y/N)’d be happier with them all hanged _collectively_ than the trio being saved. Feeling her hot rapid breaths hit against his jaw, he glares back though calling on his cousin.

“John, come to the meeting alright. Think about the kids,” Michael bargained, though it didn’t really matter; (Y/N) was going whether she liked it or not. “if you want to leave, then fine.”

“It’s Christmas Michael, what the _fuck_ do you think is going to happen?” She croaked, though her words laced in venom.

The girl watches him go silent.

“We’re the family now, we can look after ourselves,” she states, “I don’t need Tommy Shelby’s pity.”

There’s some loud shuffling behind her with a faint, click of a gun which she put down to John and the shotgun over his back but the change in Michael’s eyes say otherwise as his jaw clenches.

_“Get in the fucking house!”_

“(Y/N).” It’s the last thing she hears before Michael roughly grabs at her arms shoving her back to the main door with Esme quickly slamming it shut.

There’s a mixture of ringing in her ears, and a collection of screams once they duck to the floor. She couldn’t hear the bullets, but it was as if she could _feel_ them in the back of her skull.

Then, it was like the world had just _shut off._

* * *

__

“ _Mum!_ ” (Y/N) screamed, attempting to get the attention of the woman dashing through the bleak halls of the hospital, with her eldest son in hand trying to fight the tears for the sake of stabilisation; once she started, it’d be all over. 

She could vaguely make out the small group of other people following behind, though it was all just a blurry, black array but none were any of them at the top of anyone’s priority list. _God, I hope he’s still breathing._

Polly’s quickly looks to the young-woman cradling the sleepy toddler, bursting into the waiting room she desperately clings to them in a warm embrace.

“I-I didn’t know what to do, h-he, was just _lying_ there and the blood was everywhere. Then, John - _fuck!”_ (Y/N) sobbed into Polly’s shoulder as the woman soothed her.

A voice behind the two questions, “Where is he?” 

With her daughter in-law still in her arms she turns back Tommy.

If it wasn’t for George, (Y/N) would’ve pounced.

“The fuck you doing here?” She seethed.

“Love, don’t start this. Where’s Michael?”

“Don’t start? Don’t _you_ fucking start, who’s _fault_ is it he’s here?!”

Tommy glared at the girl, her distressed state mirroring the one he’d last seen. Though, her feelings were irrelevant in stopping Changretta. So, giving a shit wasn’t on the agenda.

“Hun, sit. I’ll get you a tea and we’ll talk.”

“I want my husband mum. I saw him _fucking_ gunned down.”

 _“(Y/N)._ He’ll pull through. Be patient.”

Sighing she flopped into the chair, placing George on her lap letting him snuggle into her chest whilst the in-laws loomed over them.

“Ma, I want daddy.” (Y/N) sighed, calming at hearing his timid voice as he rubs some sleep from his eyes.

“I knowbaby, I know.”

* * *

**___**

“Hey stranger.” 

(Y/N) smiled weakly at the greeting, stepping into the vacant room. Thinking it would be best go in alone, just in case.

“Hey, you.”

Michael could sense the hesitance in her slow movement as she scanned the various bandages and remaining blood stains from the bullet wounds. She takes a seat on the end of the bed then gently interlocks their hands but she doesn’t look at him.

“I’m sorry, about what happened.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Yes it does, I left you-”

“Michael. You’re alive, that’s all that matters.”

He squeezed her hand but the pair remain in silence.

“Where’s the kids?”

“George is out there with your mum, the twins and Rosie are with Ada, on their way back to Charlie’s yard.”

“-and John?”

Bracing herself, she took a sharp inhale and shook her head, swallowing the lump in her throat.

“There just wasn’t enough time.” she paused, “Esme said once they arrived at the hospital, he was already gone.”

“I want to see him.”

“You can’t Michael, look at the state of you-”

“He’s family.”

“And you’re _mine_ , so I can’t risk losing you too.”

His heart sinks, both in anger and sadness but he knew she was right. Just like she always is.

(Y/N) let’s out a humours snort.

“What?”

“Y’know one of the nurses asked if we were here to get another stamp on our ‘loyalty-card’” She used her fingers to emphasise. “-five in four years? I don’t think so.”

“We’ll get through this, won’t we?”

“Yeah, but first there’s a little boy out there, dying to show you his new race-car.”


End file.
